Page 17 of Sexting the Coach
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, and I remember she’s Karlee’s assistant. “But there’s an issue with the food—some of the guys are saying the meat was undercooked, and the chefs are?—”
“I’m coming,” Karlee says, turning on her heel and heading for the door. Before she pushes through it, she turns to us, her sharp eyes still assessing, like she doesn’t fully believe this story. Pointing at us, she says, “Youtwo need to go to HR with this. It has to be documented for the organization’s sake. And you’d better talk to PR, too—God fucking help us when this gets out.”
With that, she pushes through the door, and I pull my arm off of Elsie, despite how much my body wants me to pull her in tighter, get her against that wall again, finish what we started earlier.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, lowering my voice to a whisper. Now, it’s my turn to cross my arms.
Elsie’s eyes go wide, and she gives me an incredulous look, “Are you serious?Thatwas me saving your ass!”
“Why?”
Maybe it came from far too many years of marriage to Leda, but there has to be a reason she’s doing this. Something she wants from me. If there’s one thing I learned from that woman, it’s thateverythingis transactional, and if you think it’s not, you just don’t know what you’re expected to give up.
“What do you mean?” Elsie’s brow wrinkles, and I resist the urge to reach out and smooth the little spot between her eyebrows with my thumb.
“This was my fault,” I say, clearing my throat and standing a little taller. “I shouldn’t have followed you out here—and we shouldn’t have been…”
What exactly were we doing against the wall? Almost-kissing? Flirting? Whatever it was, clearly it was enough for Karlee to see red, which means I should have known better. I should have kept my distance from Elsie, maybe just let her fall on her ass.
“I’ll go to Karlee and HR and tell them the truth,” I say, taking a deep breath, knowing this means I’ll lose my job. But it’s the right thing to do—I’m not going to let Elsie lie to a friend like this, and the bit about her parents being pissed didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “What—why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” I deliver this with what I know to be a lacking conviction. “This whole thing is my fault.”
“Okay—okay,” Elsie pushes her hands into her hair and starts to pace in front of me, her long legs swinging out in front of her with each step. Her black converse are scuffed and dirty from theweek of camp events, and her joggers hug her hips and tighten in around her ankles.
“Elsie—” I try, realizing I’m already checking her out again and need to stop. This is exactly what got me into this situation in the first place.
“No, just listen—” she pauses, turns on her heel, and continues pacing in the other direction, not looking at me as she starts to talk, her words coming at a faster and faster clip. “First, this whole thing wasn’t completely your fault. I sent that text, and that’s what started it. So, I can take accountability for that.”
Actually, it was her bursting into my room that started it. Or maybe just her having the gall to accept the job with the Squids, coming around every day, filling every room with her laughter and getting all the guys all mushy over her. Being around, day in and day out. Existing near me.
But I don’t say any of that, I just watch her pace and let her go on.
“Second, this job is important to me. Ineedto keep it—I haven’t even gotten a chance tohelpanyone yet.”
There’s something a little desperate in her tone, and I file it away, watching her face as it cracks slightly, revealing something I don’t quite understand. She runs her hands over her hair again, flattening down the fly-aways and turning to me, so she’s back lit by the lamp, her silhouette tall, her shoulders pulled back.
“And finally, the Squids needyou, too. If you guys want a chance at the Stanley Cup, you have to stay.”
“You’re that confident in my abilities, huh?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her, ignoring the little spark that causes in my chest.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a slight quirk to her lips, like she knows how the compliment pleased me. “Turbulence with the coaching staff isnevergood for team morale.”
“And how would you know that?”
“At the risk of sounding snobby,” she laughs, pressing her lips together, giving me a joking look, “Youdoknow who I am, right? I grew up in the NHL. Understanding this stuff was like learning about my own family dynamics.”
“So, what, we’re…dating now? You should know that I’m not really available.”
Her face goes pale, and she steps closer to me, eyes widening, “You’redatingsomeone?”
“No—” it comes out a little too fast, and I clear my throat, trying to regain control. “No, but I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”
“Neither am I,” she says, in a voice that saysyou’re so arrogant. “I’m fresh off a break-up. We’re notreallydating—we can just keep it up long enough to convince Karlee you weren’t doing anything untoward, then have an amicable split. Easy.”
I bite my tongue to keep from asking her about her recent break-up, to keep from laughing at the idea of an amicable split—that’s how it was supposed to be with me and Leda.
